Her Mystery Duke (28 page)

She wished she could believe that. However, she feared that
she was only beginning to face a hard, cold truth. That Dr. Edmonton had been
correct all along.

* * * *

David leaned against the wall in the ballroom of Somerville
House. The ladies in their ball gowns made a colorful, twirling rainbow as they
danced the quadrille. It was a small, family gathering to celebrate his
cousin’s seventeenth birthday. The music was cheerful and everyone was happy.

But David was lonely.

And he was tired from trying to spread himself between his
life with Jeanne, his political life and his family life. There just weren’t
enough hours in the day.

And every hour he spend apart from Jeanne was empty.

He wanted her by his side.

Over the last few days, the seed of something had begun to
take root. Somewhere deep in his mind. A developing undertow. Something that
would require a total reordering of everything he had once expected of life. Of
himself. And Jeanne. It was just a spark of an idea. It filled him with warmth.
It would take time to grow.

“There you are, David, hiding in the shadows of your own
ballroom.”

He turned. Isabella was resplendent in an apple green gown
with a sheer white overdress.

“Good evening, Isabella.”

“I can never find you anymore. Your servants report you are
gone from your house more often than not. I need you to escort me to the
Middleton’s ball tomorrow tonight.”

“I can’t. I am going to the theatre.”

Isabella’s expression hardened and she flickered a glance
about. “You’re taking Miss Darling?”

She had lowered her voice, as though Jeanne were a dirty
secret.

Irritation sparked through his blood. “Yes.”

Isabella pursed her lips for a moment. “Heavens, David, I
would have thought you’d have grown weary of her by now. I mean she’s not
exactly of the first water, is she? I heard your kitchen servants gossiping.
They said she behaved like the commonest bumpkin when she visited here.”

She had actually spoken to his kitchen servants about
Jeanne. That spoke volumes about how much the matter of his mistress must be
vexing her.

“She may have been a little awkward. She may have some rough
edges to smooth out still. But that’s the thing about culture and refinement.
It can be easily taught, if one is set to learn. What a pity the same cannot be
said about compassion.”

Isabella stared at him a moment and then she fanned her
face. Rapidly. And she tittered, a forced sound. “Oh, David, you say the most
curious things. I just think she’s quite a bit below your dignity. If you’re
going to keep a mistress, then she ought to be someone of fashion with an
elegant reputation. You are a duke, remember?”

“Well, when I forget, I am sure you’ll remind me.”

Isabella gave another forced giggle and continued to fan
herself.

It was none of her affair whom he chose to spend his time
with. And of all people, Jeanne didn’t need Isabella’s approval. But then, one
had to understand Isabella’s situation and temperament. Naturally she would be
among the first to cast judgment on her social inferiors.

Isabella coughed softly. “I wish I could have gained your
agreement about the Middleton ball before you made other plans. I stopped by
your office yesterday to talk about it. But you were already gone.”

“I had an afternoon appointment.”

Jeanne had been in low spirits since the country house
party. Unable to concentrate on anything else, he’d been unable to shake his
concern for her. So, he had left his chambers early. He had visited her and
carried her immediately to her bedchamber. There he had bound her arms over her
chest and tied legs spread-eagle on her bed and taken her. The euphoria had
been fantastic for them both. However, the loss of time from his work had
weighed heavily on his conscience. He was spreading himself too thin. Something
had to give.

Isabella was gaping at him. “But it was well before noon.
You never leave your offices so early.” She frowned. “You are acting very strangely
as of late.”

He needed to be alone with his thoughts. “Pardon me,
Isabella, but I am going to take a walk in the garden.”

She snapped her fan shut. “But you are the host, you
shouldn’t just leave—”

“It is springtime. I think I should like to take a walk in
the fresh air.”

Isabella shook her head. “You are behaving very strangely.”

* * * *

Hours later, David sat in Jeanne’s bedchamber. Firelight
lent a glow to Jeanne’s golden hair as she ran the brush through it. She was
lingering excessively over the task. David could feel her despondency
permeating the chamber.

She’d been like this since the house party. He had needed to
attend that house party. Important connections were built and reinforced at
such clandestine events. Sometimes more so than the official events. And to be
perfectly honest, he would have hated to leave her. So he had taken her along.
She was his mistress after all.

However, he should never have taken her to the house party.
She wasn’t like the other women and of course she felt out of place there.
Shame washed over him. He had wanted her to fit there. He had wanted there to
be some area of his life where she fit. Somewhere besides this house.

Jeanne had made him happy and yet she was not completely
content with their arrangement. She wasn’t a courtesan. At heart, she was a
good girl and she wanted respectability and more security than the deed to her
house and a contract that entitled her a very generous pension. That was
something he found hard to ignore. One couldn’t love a woman and not feel her
pain as acutely as one’s own.

And his feelings for her, his need for her, might well be
another great distraction. But he viewed it differently now.

No, he wasn’t truly distracted. He was awake. He saw things
more clearly, could think with greater discernment and scope. He’d been lost in
a sort of narrow minded, limited vision for far too long. Now he’d begun to
take a long, hard look at the way he’d been living, at the futility of the type
of work he’d allowed to consume his life for far too long. Money and influence
prevented real change. There had to be a better way.

He thought often of how Jeanne had saved him that first day.
Lost, alone, not knowing who he was, he might well have ended up in some
hellish situation of barbaric treatment. He could have found himself placed in
the care of people who didn’t recognize him. People who might have refused to
believe him once he remembered himself. They might have dismissed his
assertions as the rantings of a madman.

That might be a fantastical extrapolation of how events
could have unfolded. But he couldn’t take his mind off the personal nature of
her concern for him that day. He’d been a stranger to her. Nothing to her. And
yet she had cared for and treated him with compassion.

Her personal sense of compassion was the most inspiring
thing he’d ever known. He began to think about ways his own crusade could be
more personally directed. How he could learn to be more actively compassionate
in a way that would touch individuals and make a greater, more lasting change
than his work in the political realm.

Jeanne made him see the world in a whole new way.

“Jeanne.”

She paused in the act of brushing and met his eyes in the
mirror.

“I shan’t ask you to attend one of those events again.”

“Why not David?”

“Because you’re not like those women and it was insensitive
of me to expect you to try and fit in with them.”

“I shall have to learn, won’t I?”

“No, you won’t.”

“I am your whore now, aren’t I?”

She had to fit somewhere in his life besides in this house
and this bed. But she wasn’t his whore. Never his whore.

“I’ve told you to stop using that word to refer to
yourself.” He went to her in the bed and lay beside her under the covers. “In
fact, I think if you do it again I should punish you.”

She looked up at him, her big blue eyes afraid, lost.
“David, what is our future to be?”

He caressed her back. “I made a mistake before in thinking
that I could define what we would become. I tried to limit its boundaries and I
nearly killed what we have. I think we need flexibility. We need to keep
learning about each other and continue growing.”

Beneath his hands, her ribs began to rise and fall faster.
Her muscles tensed. “There’s no room for us to grow. We are now as we shall
always be. A duke and his mistress.”

Why should they be limited to that future? Only the
narrowness of vision or a lack of moral courage on either of their parts would
prevent something else. There was only one way that Jeanne could become part of
his life.

Marriage.

There was relief, a relaxation in every part of his body, to
finally admit it to himself. To actually think the word. Other men of his
station had married commoners. It would cause uproar, outrage. Those things
would pass.

His political career would suffer. Well, of late, he’d begun
to doubt the effectiveness of politics to solve the problems he wished to
address. But that was a whole other area he’d have to sort out. First things
first.

He took a deep breath.

If he did choose to wed Jeanne, Isabella would cause her the
most consistent and direct grief. Of course he would protect Jeanne as much as
he could. He couldn’t always be at her side. He had to be sure Jeanne was
resilient enough to bear all the difficulties. Before he let his heart make a
rash decision, he had to make sure Jeanne was strong. His mother had been
forced into the position of duchess when she wasn’t able to cope. It had
destroyed her.

He put his lips to Jeanne’s, a brief kiss. “We have to be
brave.”

Her eyes widened. He sensed her perception. Her suspicion of
where his thoughts were going. It frightened her. He felt her begin to
withdraw, to retreat.

He tightened his embrace. “We could face anything together.”

“I am not a very brave person, David.”

“Nonsense, my love. You are a very brave, giving person.”

She closed her eyes. She turned away from him. But more than
just the simple act, she had pulled away from him. Emotionally.

He let her go. She needed time. He placed his hand lightly
on the side her buttock, just to let her know he was there. Even in the face of
her retreat. He closed his eyes and let sleep drift over him.

In his dreams, hope burned brightly, as it had not done in
years.

* * * *

“You’re no daughter of
mine! Not now!”

Papa lunged at her.

The glint of metal caught
the candlelight.

“You think I don’t
know whose idea it was to send me to that wretched place—all so you could be
free to play the whore!”

The knife arced down.
She threw her hands up and screamed.

Heart thudding, Jeanne sat straight up in the bed. The bed
drapes were partly open. There were no candles, only moonlight streaming in the
window.

Strong arms wrapped about her. She struggled against them.

“Shh, it is all right. You’re safe. It was just another
dream.” David’s deep voice calmed her. He urged her to lie back and he cradled
her for a time against his bare chest, his wiry hairs tickling her cheek. The
sound of his heartbeat and his scent comforted her.

The dreams had been coming so often of late. They made her
feel scared and then after she’d awoken fully, they always made her feel
foolish. She wasn’t a girl any longer. She shouldn’t be so terrified of
nightmares.

“I have to leave soon, my love,” he said. “But I hate to
leave you alone when you are feeling overset.”

“I know. Don’t worry. Mrs. Wilson will be here soon.”

He kissed her then arose from the bed. She watched him dress
then tie his cravat with little care. She knew he would shave and dress for the
day at his own house. That little detail in the ritual of his day was an
important one. It always reminded her that his life was forever separate from
hers no matter how many nights he slept in her bed.

He lived in his world. His life with her was part of his
dreams, like sleep. She was a kept woman, a creature of the night. She ought to
be glad of it. A man, a wonderful, caring man, loved her. And yet she had her
independence. Time to devote to her writing.

None of it was working according to plan.

She couldn’t write. She felt shame at being classed with
whores. Most of all, she felt pain every morning when she watched David leave
for his own world.

He wasn’t satisfied either. He wanted more from her. More
than she would ever be able to give. Cold fear froze her right down to her
bones.

Suddenly, she wanted to feel something different. Something
extraordinary. She wanted him to come back and to bind her body. To take her
fiercely. A sigh escaped her, long and lingering. He looked up and met her
eyes. He was staring back with his public face, aloof and slightly superior.
She tried to communicate her need through her gaze.

His expression warmed. The pupils of his eyes enlarged. He
paused in the act of tying his cravat. She held her breath.

He closed her out.

She knew it the moment his gaze cooled and he resumed tying
his cravat. He came to her and kissed her. Brief. Chaste. He already belonged
to his other life.

* * * *

Jeanne sighed and arched her back, trying to stretch out the
soreness in her muscles. After a late night out at the theatre, she had woken
early with her mind full of ideas. She’d come to her desk without so much as a
cup of tea and poured those ideas out into ink upon the paper.

She’d been there all day.

Now David was here. He’d come to her early. She hadn’t
expected to see him until two in the morning. She had planned to take a long
and refreshing nap before he arrived. She felt tired, drained, and at a
disadvantage.